3 Things

Three different things I felt like posting today. None of them worthy of their own blog post, BUT if you put them together, it’s like one decent blog entry. And now you have choices. You don’t even have to read all of them. Actually, you don’t have to read any…I’ll never know. Seriously. Do what you want. It’s called Freedom. It’s the American way.

1. Real story:

Me: Courses at my college are only ten weeks long.
Freshman Girl: Lucky…I wish this class was only ten weeks long!
Me: Hey, you have less than ten weeks left until the year is over!
Freshman Girl: I know..it’s depressing.
Me: Wait, why is it depressing?
Freshman Girl: I don’t wanna be a sophomore…
Me: Why?
Freshman Girl: Because…all sophomores are boring….and fat.

Seriously. It’s a fact. I looked it up.

2. Here’s a descriptive piece I did for my writing class.
Prompt: describe the place you expect to work.

(Again, it’s slightly different than the one I turned in…for better or worse. But you’ll never know, so that’s just extraneous information. That’s a big word. This is a fancy blog. Can’t roll? Then get outta here. Just kidding, I love you, please stay.)

It’s a rare silent moment.  Thankful, I take a deep breath, but am reminded that this place stinks. Literally.  The smell of body odor covered up with “Wild Spice” aerosol deodorant permeates every corner of this classroom.  Laminated poster paper covers the walls with formulas, charts and equations written in permutations of Crayola red, green, blue and black.  Four short stacks of crumpled college-ruled paper, scribbled with last nights homework, display more shades of white than a Dunn Edwards. Paper balls, Gatorade bottles, and pen caps form a ring around the small brown and blue trash bins, remnants of each student who swore they were the next LeBron James.

The door at the front opens up to my post, a small table and swivel chair placed next to the Smartboard.  The Smartboard is a 77 inch “interactive whiteboard”.  Basically, it’s a large computer screen that I can write on.  It is strategically placed in front of the old non-interactive whiteboard, just in case anything (or anybody) compromises this technology. Any by anybody, I mean myself.

My room is roughly twice as long as it is wide. 4′ x 2′ tables are grouped in pairs to form desks that accommodate four students each, two on either side. Ten of these cover the linoleum ground, reducing the walkways to a grid paper floor plan.  I begin to weave through the desks, straightening the chairs and sweeping shreds of perforated paper into my palm.  Now free of obstruction, one of the desks informs me that Brittany is a slut. Another one gives me a number that, apparently, I should call if I want a good time. One more desk clues me into the fact that JMHS sucks. Good to know.

The bell rings. Lunch is over. Faint cries of laughter and chatter quickly increase in volume as a wave of students pass by the door.  The first student to enter my class is Evelyn, a short Hispanic girl with a knack for Pokemon paraphernalia . She navigates her way to her assigned spot without once looking up from her science fiction novel.  A few seconds later, a tide of students pours in, and Jansports littered with Sharpie autographs, quotes, hearts and stars drop to the floor as the majority of students take their seat.  Anthony just barely enters the room, lingering at the doorway, locked in conversation with his friends down the hall. A disproportionally large Rosary hangs around his neck, the wooden cross falling over the Nike logo on his sweatshirt. His slate gray jeans are fastened well below his waist, revealing Celtic green basketball shorts.

Priscilla wants to know if I’m assigning homework today, Brandon wants to know if I’m going to teach today and Angel wants to know if I brought cookies.  Yes, Priscilla. Yes, just like everyday, Brandon. And no, Angel, that was only for Pi Day.

The bell rings again. Time for class.

3. I forgot what the third thing was going to be.
Here’s a photo instead.Kinda like that story about the girl who trained her cow to be her “horse”…except instead of a cow, it’s a raccoon, and instead of a horse, it’s a friend.

Advertisements
8 comments
  1. Brynn did you really think the kids would let you get away with not bringing crack cookies back to class every day?! addiction is serious and you probably got them hooked….just sayin 🙂

    • Brynn said:

      honestly…how did i not foresee that?!? combine that with the fact that high school students have unreasonable expectations, and it really was quite predictable. i have a lot to learn.

  2. mom said:

    Brynn, I see a future book here! You have your grandma’s writing talent and I enjoy every word! I mean I really laugh out loud! soooooo good (and the random photos? omgosh). You are going to be a great teacher someday with a trail of students that will remember the impact you had on them. You might never know it, but they will talk about you, in a good way, and they will talk about those cookies 🙂

    I love you always, mom ox

    • Brynn said:

      thanks mom! lol, fingers crossed it’s in a “good way”.
      but hey, gaining student approval with cookies is always a legitimate option.

  3. Tyler said:

    That picture makes me want to be a man.

    • Brynn said:

      You could start off by getting a jean vest?

  4. Beryl Gunn/Grandma said:

    Brynn I am laughing so hard. Seriously, you were never fat when a sophomore. Also I have never seen a “Rosemary” around anyone’s neck, but I have seen a Rosary. There is always something new I can learn. Are those kids driving you crazy?

    • Brynn said:

      oops! made the correction…but yes, i am officially crazy.
      thanks gma! 🙂

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: